


Stephen Strange - Master of the Mystic Arts

by SyndhromeAbuse



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyndhromeAbuse/pseuds/SyndhromeAbuse
Summary: The Sorcerer Supreme is a full-time job, as Stephen Strange has come to realize throughout the years. He's dealt with threats from this dimension and others multiple times with the help of the powers that be. But what is he when all those connections to higher deities cease to exist?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

He had done this a million times. His will and knowledge and expertise, all of which sharpened into one fine-cutting scalpel. An incision here, an incision there. Sometimes the man wondered if there was any difference between the two arts he had been acclaimed for in his life.  
  
“By the winds of Munipoor, the bindings of Cyttorak and the ever watchful eyes of the Vishanti, I condemn thee to nether realms on the forever dead currents of the River Cryx.”  
  
And just like that. The power of the Ancients flowed through him. With a precise gesture. The most precise ones always came from performing these banishments. These dark arts. He almost wished he could hold a real scalpel with this amount of precision again.  
  
As the vile assortment of goop and eyes vanished into whirlpool of dead water, Doctor Stephen Strange’s hands began shaking once more as the power of magic ebbed within him. Even a simple gesture as fixing his hair became a task when all but the roughest of motions had been left to your hand muscles.  
  
“That will be that then. I will have to check if the Nyctorial Entity has been properly chained to the bottom of the river. I pay good infernal coin to the ferryman to help me keep count of these multidimensional beasts. Some of these are just impossible to keep in the physical realm.”  
  
As he channeled the powers that be for another time, his form folded on itself, almost immediately unfolding inside the deepest room of the Sanctum Sanctorum.  
  
“Sir. I received a message through the Orb of Agamotto.”  
  
The familiar voice didn’t even make Strange flinch. The bald Chinese man named Wong was such a vital part of his life that if he were ever to disappear, it’d feel like the Sorcerer Supreme had once again lost his hands. With a simple nod as he floated back to the ground, Stephen allowed the helper to continue.  
  
“The Nyctorial Entity you just banished has been secured in Cryx. The ferryman once again tried to bargain for a raise in interest. I…. kindly declined and reminded him of who owed their life to who.”  
  
That made Strange crack a small, almost non-unnoticeable smile. Wong was an impressive man who had proven himself a veritably great amount of times and he had not disappointed the good doctor this or any other time.  
  
“Very well. I’m feeling slightly famished. Maybe we could eat something? As long as it’s not made of goop or involves eyeballs. I’ve had much of that today.”  
  
“I recall we still had some craftian octopus tentacles in the fridge. With eggs of demon sturgeon and harpy’s blood, perhaps?”  
Strange’s stomach took the moment to pronounce itself in favor of that before he could even express his agreement. It felt weird that he desired such an odd dish but that was how the life of a magician went, especially so of one Sorcerer Supreme. He gave a short cough.  
  
“That would be most appreciated. Make the eggs half-boiled, if you could. I will peer through the veil of the Orb. Come for me when it is ready.”  
  
As he finished, once again the doctor began floating, crossing his legs, the Orb of Agamotto’s mists beginning to move within.  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“Wong?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“I only do what is my life-bound duty to perform.”  
  
With that, Wong retreated out of the chamber as the sorcerer focused on the glowing glass sphere. Almost as soon as he had gone, the images cleared and the doctor’s eyes widened. This couldn’t be…  
  
“Hoary hosts…. This cannot be.”  
  
That was all that looped on his mind as floated perfectly still, his body becoming rigid as stone, a wisp of blue light exiting his body and fading out of existence. Upon arriving at the dimension that worried him, the wisp expanded to represent his regular astral projection.  
  
Investigating the area around him, it took less time for Stephen to find what had appalled him so. Fire in the heavens. Envoys of Mephisto? Dormammu’s guard demons? Or maybe some new foe? Little mattered as he took the case in his hands. The same motions activated the flow of power that his words unleashed as stood between an army of purple horned creatures who breathed fire and spat venom and their target.  
  
“The blessings of Seraphim that repel the vile and the pungent stench of evil protect us with the strength of a thousand fold.”  
  
As the sigils appeared on his hands, the dome of pure light rose and enveloped the city. That should protect the folks enough for them to escape, as long as he maintained some focus.  
  
But that’s when it all came to a head. There was nothing behind him. No city being terrorized. Just a simple shining void. A small shake brought him to the reality of the situation. He wasn’t supposed to feel the limitations of his crippled body in this form, but there it was.  
  
The demons had somehow broken through the Seraphim’s shield he had conjured. There was no time for fancy conjurations, or the use of the Eye of Agamotto to unveil the truth. The doctor was forced into a fight or flight situation, and his hands flicked into magic bolt shooting mode. With an ear shattering cry, Strange saw life going in slow motion as what had been bothering his mind finally dropped on his head. Floating on the shiny void, the sight of demons disappeared and shifted back to one of finely-winged forms, as pure white feathers blew over him.  
  
And that was when the doctor found himself being brought back to his body. Opening his physical eyes, he felt his hands shaking and his body laid on the floor. He felt weaker than ever. Looking up, he could tell the aide who always took care of him was clearly worried about his state.  
  
“I ran up as soon as I heard your fall, sir. What happened? What’s going on out there? Is it a new foe? Or perhaps another dreaded plan from Dormammu himself?”  
  
Stephen Strange looked upon his long-standing partner and friend’s eyes, distress clearly leaving its marks.  
  
“I… I can’t… I can’t feel their power anymore.”  
  
“Whose? What happened?”  
  
In his mind’s eye, Strange replayed the scene multiple times. Beyond the illusion he was led to see, it was clear now. The Sorcerer Supreme had murdered one of the Seraphim in cold blood.


	2. Chapter 2

“May the blessing of Seraphim shine upon us.”

Nothing.

“I call upon the images of Ikkon to shift the somber tone of that which surrounds me.”

Nothing either.

“The will of the vaunted Vishanti commands the Orb of Agamotto to reveal its secrets to me.”

The husk of a man fell backwards into a chair, sweat drenching his brow. He had been at it for a few hours, his attendee and long-time partner Wong be witness. The powers that be had truly left him.

Not for no reason either. The image was still freshly printed on his mind’s eye. The slightly incinerated corpse of the Seraphim falling through the air as he came to calm down the sorcerer. The smell of ether and burnt feathers stuck to him. Looking back, Stephen was still quite astonished. A deity being murdered by the Sorcerer Supreme’s own mystic bolt while he had been submerged in an illusion? That bode as badly as half the contents of his fridge.

“Sir, perhaps if you eat? Replenish your strengths and go at it again.”

The aide did nothing more than gently push the wheeled tray in his master’s direction. Despite the peculiar nature of the ingredients used, the food didn’t look quite as bad, even appetizing to the hungrier party in the room. Extending a hand to grab onto the spoon, the shaking member flicked uncontrollably for a second, before the doctor was forced to drop it.

Magic did not heal his hands, it only gave him a new purpose in life, one he felt the biggest honor and joy in fulfilling. His physical body still endured the pain, the frustration of not working properly, of requiring aid for even nourishment. Rubbing his hands against one another and taking a deep breath, Stephen leaned towards the bowl of oddly scented ingredients and, with a shaky spoon, began to scarf it down.

“You know, Wong, there has got to be a solution to eating that doesn’t involve me fearing for my internal organs every time I have to dine.”

“Perhaps we only require more research into the matter, sir. I have done my utmost best to appease your urges, but not even my family’s thenthuk achieved much.”

Eating in complete silence for a bit, Strange released a light sigh.

“I killed one of the Seraphim. There was… I was the target for an illusion of some kind. But who could have done such a thing? And why?”

As he took another spoonful of fried craftian octopus tentacles, the sorcerer’s hand shook, dropping half its contents onto his shirt. Quickly appeasing his aide with a gesture, the man tried to wipe some of it off, until something clicked in his mind.

“The shake… Somehow whoever cast that illusion made my astral form feel as real as my physical form. That’s either impossible or nigh unthinkable.”

An astral form was the sum of one’s psyche and long had it been since Stephen Strange had let his handicapped hands affect his mind aside from the occasional childish frustration. Sudden tremors while in astral form were impossible. Maybe the problem was much deeper than he initially thought.

“Wong, I require a change of clothes. And go to the vault. There’s another thing I must make use of going ahead.”

The man nodded twice. Taking care of the doctor was his primary function after all. Not just in the mystic ways but in the cases his infirm state prevented him from tending to his higher calling.

“What exactly will I be procuring from the vault, sir?”

“The Jewel of Transhypnosis, Wong.”

Woken from his routine thoughts for clothes changing, the asian man stopped. His head turned to the master as the man kept eating. He simply released a cough and gave a short bow before exiting the room.

“Tusks of Denak. This matter is truly exasperating. I must see it cleared soon.”

The plate cleaned and the redressing complete, Wong approached Stephen with a chest. Opening it revealed a golden, glistening gem. To others, it might just be another gem, maybe even a fake, painted, plastic rock. But in the hands of a witch or a sorcerer, the Jewel of Transhypnosis was much more than meets the eye.

Taking the golden crystal in his hands, the Master of the Mystic Arts invoked a string of eldritch incantations, turning its soft glow into a shiny beacon of light.

“Come, Wong. I will definitely require your tending in the journey we are about to make.”

“What about the Sanctum, Doctor?”

“I will notify one of our… super friends to come.”

“The… Parker boy?”

“Goodness no. He’d break a vase and unleash Ragnarok less than a minute inside this place. I’ll notify Illyana to housesit.”

“Ah… Miss Rasputin. Yes, I trust her to know what to NOT do in the Sanctum.”

With a breath, Strange sent out a mystic vessel to carry his message to Magik. And with that done, the beacon of light swallowed the two figures in his false warmth.

But the moment was brief, as the light died down and their physical bodies found themselves floating. No, not floating, it appeared that actual clouds had gathered beneath their feet and made platforms on which they could stand. They had arrived at the home dimension of the Seraphim.

“Sir?” Strange’s hand suddenly pressed heavily on his assistant’s shoulder. This trip had taken from him more energy than expected. Even through the use of a mystic object, it was still more expensive than what Stephen had to give.

“I... will recover in a brief moment, Wong.” And so he did, taking a step forward and finally taking in the view.

The sky shone with all the colors of the rainbow, in perfect and synchronous harmony. The ground and natural scenery was a mix of rocks and clouds, far away mountains and hills. In front of them lay a great walled off complex. To outsiders only its finely sculpted fortress and its great worked gold gates could be discerned, as the inside was hidden by clouds that obscured all but the impossibly bright light that shone from within.

As the Doctor and his aide approached, Strange took quite literally ringing the bell that hung by the side of the gates.

“The Sorcerer Supreme requests an audience with the Holy Seraphim!”

His voice echoed through the gate. A few moments passed before Stephen would once again ring the bell. But the contraption would not finish its ringing before the gates opened inward, revealing a city build on the purest white marble, basking and reflecting on the light of a great star. It was almost obfuscating, requiring a good minute before their eyes grew accustomed. But before either of the men could walk into this visual paradise, a small host of white-winged men, armored and armed in gold, exited the gates. Yes, they looked exactly like the one he had undoubtedly killed just a few hours prior.

“May the Vishanti’s blessing descend, or rather ascend, into your lives. So says the Sorcerer-”

But not a single word after that was said, as the feeling of cold metal restrained the Doctor’s wrists, drawing his attention to the golden handcuffs that had been clasped there.

“By the order of the Seraphim High Order, Stephen Vincent Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, is now under the custody of the Holy Kingdom and will face trial for the murder of one of its brethren.”

The expression of astonishment in Wong’s face was not comparable to the one of pure bewilderment in Stephen’s as this missive was delivered by one of the guards.


End file.
